Duplicity
by Chansy
Summary: Rachel Phantomhive finds herself enticed by a certain mortician. His smoky voice and enigmatic charm awakens a hunger in her that she had been struggling to keep dormant. Will she sacrifice her title of the perfect wife and mother for a taste of decadence? Or will she be able to restrain this man's illicit desire before it brings to ruin all she was blessed with?
1. Chapter 1: The Lotus

Chapter 1: The Lotus

She had the perfect life, in all aspects. But still the feeling of dissatisfaction haunted her. No matter what activities she immersed herself in, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing and that, perhaps, life was meant to be a bit more engaging. It was a bright spring day when this feeling came back to her. She was sitting at her window, knitting needles and yarn in her lap. She had been working on a new blanket for Ciel for most of the day, but as it came closer to completion, she found herself too tired of it to finish. Instead she looked out the window at the garden in the courtyard. The flowers had bloomed recently, and the yard which had looked so dreadfully stale in the winter finally started to look the way it should always look year-round. If only the beautiful colors and lovely scents could last that long... Rachel let out a sigh, leaning back in her chair. After a moment she decided that the blanket shall not be finished that day. She returned the yarn and needles back to their basket. With nothing left in the room to interest her, she decided to walk through the garden.

Spurge laurels, dwarf morning glories, and leather flowers, these were the flowers Rachel was sure to take extra time to admire. They were her favourites. However, on this particular day it seemed as though even these flowers couldn't hold her attention. She stopped for a moment as she noticed a cluster of dill flowers sprouting up from the earth. They were an ugly addition to the garden. Rachel made a mental note to instruct the gardener to remove them immediately. She pulled her irritated gaze from them and looked across the courtyard. Suddenly, she felt the strong desire to run through the tender green grass, dance in the midst of the flowers. She knew better, of course. With her illness, she couldn't even play with her own child. When the other ladies would play croquet, she would sit on the sidelines, watching and working on her knitting, creating beautiful garments for her child.

She didn't mind most of the time. However, there were days when she found it difficult to just watch. There were times when she wondered what would happen if she just tried, just for a moment. Her lungs emptied abruptly and she grasped at her chest. These lungs… If only she could will her entire being to find blame in her lungs for the dissatisfaction she felt deep down inside. Tilting her head up, she breathed in deeply. How immensely it disheartened her when she could feel her lungs struggle to expand. She feared she would have been trapped in that melancholy forever if Abigail had not called for her.

"My Lady," Abigail called in her bird-like voice as she hurried –far more quickly than necessary- down the garden path. She was a springy girl of twenty. Her wavy hair was as bright and golden as sunshine and bounced with every movement she made, no matter how small. She wasn't married, and likely never would be. Though overzealous at times, Abigail proved to be a hard worker with a kind and gentle heart. "Lady Bellamy has arrived for tea," The blond now said, her cheeks flushed with panic.

"Tea?" Rachel contrasted the girl, calm and unbothered by the sudden intrusion. Maude was a dear friend of Rachel's. They had known each other for several years. It saddened Rachel to see how much her friend had changed in those years. Once a pious and devoted wife, Maude was now the center of gossip in high society. The rumors that plagued her were readily believed, despite the lack of evidence. Once faithful friends now shied away from her, save for Rachel. Even if she wanted to abandon her friend, the self-absorbed woman wouldn't allow it. As was expected of Maude, she often dropped by unannounced. She was ignorant of the basic rules that governed society. This didn't bother Rachel, however. Hesitant to admit, she found in Maude a form of escape. The eccentric woman allowed a window into a more entertaining lifestyle and Rachel readily made accommodations for her. "That's perfectly fine, Abigail, don't worry. Just see her to the drawing room and have some tea and cakes prepared. I'll be there shortly."

"Yes m'lady," Abigail gave a quick, shallow bow and scurried off. Rachel took one last look at her flowers. If only their scents could heal her…

In the drawing room Maude was seated with a cake already in her hand. She was only two years older than Rachel but looked far more aged. Her heavy used of makeup did not help her. Rachel felt the presence of the woman before she even entered the room. She was thoroughly soaked in perfumes which invaded every nearby hallway and room and strangled the air. Abigail had opened as many windows as she could in preparation, but even that did little to dilute the odor. Rachel had warned Maude against this in the past. It agitated her illness. These heavy scents would surely cause her to faint one of these days. But, Maude never listened. She saw Rachel's illness as nothing more than mere fancy, a delusion created to call what little attention it could to her. When Maude saw the Lady Phantomhive she gave a small nod, as if giving Rachel permission to enter the room. The corners of her lips struggled to push the fat of her cheeks aside to form a smile.

"My, Rachel, don't you look lovely," Maude remarked, using the tone of voice that always made her comments sound as though they lacked sincerity.

"What a pleasant surprise.: Rachel replied dryly. "Hello Maude. How have you been?"

"Simply superb. And yourself?"

"Quite fine, thank you." Maude hummed her response and, raising an eyebrow, leaned back against the chair. Rachel took a seat across from her and moved to offer her guest some tea. However, seeing that Maude had already helped herself, she poured only herself a cup and let it grow cold in her lap. They talked about whatever simple subjects came to mind then. How the weather has been lately, the events of the recent ball they had both attended, the Marchioness of Winchester's new ball gown… When they found themselves with nothing else to address, Rachel was too anxious to allow for any sort of silence. Maude, on the other hand, found it to be the perfect opportunity to savour the Phantomhive's food. "What can I do for you, Maude?" Rachel asked, not wanting to wait until Maude had finished devouring all of the cakes before speaking again.

"Oh, not a thing, not a thing…" Maude replied, sitting up and reaching for something on her left side. "I just wanted to see how my dear Rachel was doing. Have you spread your wings a little more since I've last seen you? Have you done anything to cast off that act?"

"I'm beg your pardon?"

"What have you been doing with yourself, Rachel? Are you still more puppet than woman?" Maude's brows furrowed, while Rachel wore a look of surprise.

"What do you mean? I've been fulfilling my duties just like any other lady should. It's no act." Maude closed her eyes, her expression melting into a far-off, dreamy look.

"I don't see myself as a puppet, Maude." Rachel added.

"My poor dear, so green behind the ears. You can be so much more than a mother and a wife." Rachel clenched the fabric of her dress, growing more upset with each passing moment. Being a mother was one of the greatest gifts she could have ever asked for. Being the bride of Vincent Phantomhive was one of the greatest honors. Shouldn't that be enough? She found she was at war with herself now with Maude's words as an awful catalyst. What else could she possibly want? She had a feeling there was something out there. This feeling that she had pushed down with ease for so long finally started to bubble up within her. It clung to every passing thought and demanded itself be acknowledged. Rachel remained silent, unable to produce a peace within herself that allowed for a reply. Meanwhile, Maude pulled from her side a well-worn book with a tattered leather cover and no title. "I've just finished a marvelous book, you see. I thought you may enjoy it. It allows you to delve into life's infinite possibilities without dirtying your own hands." Rachel was wary of where the conversation was starting to head. She was afraid that with any more provocation she would not be able to hold back her shameful thoughts.

"…Is that so?" She said weakly.

"Yes, indeed so. You see, precious Rachel, a woman only has but one life. She mustn't surrender it to others."

"Maude-"

"There are so many opportunities in life. One mustn't limit herself. In books. In books we find an escape to those possibilities."

"But Maude-"

"Why, in this book, I was able to see life as an adulteress-"

"Maude!" Rachel stood up then, her voice returning to her. Her cup of tea fell from her lap and the lukewarm liquid bled into the rug. "I must ask you to stop!"

"Don't be so frightened, Rachel. It's not you in this book, after all. At least see how a life of excitement and sensuality could be—"

"No! I've heard enough." Rachel could feel her cheeks start to burn. She hurried over to Maude and took hold of one of her plump arms. "I must ask you to leave, now. Vincent is expecting company soon and they'll be needing this room." Maude let out a chuckle that sounded like the chiming of bells.

"Oh, alright. My dear you are far too virtuous for your own good."

"Please don't…" Maude placed a soft peck on Rachel's cheek.

"I was looking forward to hearing your thoughts on it. You were always more open-minded than those other cattle. Dear girl, take care now." Rachel saw her off to her carriage. It felt as though the air had become richer after the carriage disappeared into the thick forest. Her breaths were deeper, more gratifying. At least, for a moment or two. Rachel was now left alone with the tempest Maude had stirred within her. She was ashamed to admit to herself that what that fat old woman said did excite her, but she must admit it. Perhaps, she really was growing tired of her life. Rachel bit her lip hard, trying to stop these emotions before they spilled over. She had everything she could want… Everything. She repeated this to herself as she returned to the drawing room. Already a maid was there cleaning.

"Oh," Rachel sighed. "I apologize for the spill."

"It's alright, m'lady." As the maid scrubbed the tea out of the carpet her eyes wandered to the chair Maude had been sitting in. Rachel followed her gaze, and felt her chest tighten.

"Oh, that!" She exclaimed, hastily snatching the book from where it rested. "Just a book of Maude's she forgot…"

"Perhaps we could have one of the grooms return—"

"No!" The word came out before Rachel could even think of a response. "No, no, that's quite all right. Maude said she'd be coming by tomorrow. I'll just return it to her myself then." Rachel wasn't accustomed to lying. Her reaction surprised her. Without waiting for a response from the maid she hurried to her bedroom to hide the book like a stolen treasure. She sat down on her bed once the loot was secured. What was she doing? She breathed in deeply. She could smell the flowers from the outside garden as their scents drifted in through the open window.

As evening approached Rachel was able to once again lock away her feelings. Vincent had returned and was preparing for a meeting with his colleagues. The evening was a serene one, save for the servants who scurried throughout the building cleaning and preparing for the guests. Rachel found herself to be scurrying among them when her precious little one found the evening too boring and decided to misbehave. Ciel never truly meant to be naughty, Rachel knew this. Any time he found the day too bland, he decided to act out. He believed it benefited everyone around him. Unfortunately, he was wrong, and this deduction typically awarded him with a harsh scolding. Today he was incorrigible. He ran down the halls with one of Rachel's scarves clenched tightly in his chubby hand. She was no longer sure how long she had been chasing him, but she could feel the fatigue settling in. She found herself trailing farther and farther behind him, unable to even call out his name. Eventually she needed to stop. She leaned heavily against the wall as she struggled to catch her breath. No matter how deeply she breathed in, it felt as though no air was coming through. Her blood ran cold. She looked up to see Ciel had stopped and was now looking back at her, wide-eyed, from the other end of the hallway. She didn't want him to see her like this. She couldn't even find the breath to reassure him that mother was fine. Rachel fell to her knees, her free hand tugged at the collar of her dress. She felt as though it was choking her. She looked back up at Ciel and noticed a great shadow behind him. It glided past the boy and in an instant was beside her. It knelt down and spoke in a hoarse murmur.

"It's going to be alright, Lady Phantomhive. Just relax…" It was a request easier said than done. Rachel turned to look at the entity but found it had moved behind her. Bony fingers dug into her shoulders. The pressure hurt, and she wanted to squirm away. "Breathe in through your nose, slowly. Then out through your mouth." Rachel as she was instructed. She focused on her breathing, trying to forget about the pain in her shoulders. After what seemed like an eternity breathing came easier to her. She inhaled energy back into her lungs. The talons released their grip. Rachel ran a hand over her collarbone.

"Thank you," She said, looking back to see her savior. The Undertaker smiled back broadly before rising to his feet.

"It's nothing at all, m'lady. I couldn't very well have the Earl's wife succumb to her illness right in front of her child," He held out a hand. Rachel gingerly took it and stood up. She stared at the Undertaker, struggling to see his eyes from behind his curtain of silver hair. A few locks shifted, and an emerald eye peeked out at her from behind it. She felt as though she would lose her breath again. It must be the mystery of that oculus, half hidden and promising beauty like that of a sacred jewel that kept her so hypnotized. She had a delayed reaction to the man's words. Once her child's name registered in her mind, the spell was broken.

"Oh, Ciel!" Rachel gasped, realizing that the poor child witnessed all of it.

"Mother!" The toddler ran to her then, tears swelling in his eyes. She quickly gathered him up in her arms, smothering him with kisses and reassuring him that everything was okay.

"Mother's just fine, dear. Don't worry…" Rachel felt the light touch of hair against her cheek, and initially thought it was Ciel.

"That was quite a scare, wasn't it?" Feeling his warm breath against her ear, she jumped. The Undertaker simply smiled, seemingly unaware of how close he was. "Be care not to overdo yourself again, Lady Phantomhive, ihihi…" He lightly ran the back of his hand against her cheek. Rachel flinched and took a step back. She never spent much time in this man's presence, and certainly not alone. Though he was a trusted friend of Vincent's, she found herself feeling uneasy. For a nobleman, he certainly didn't know the proper way to interact with a married woman… Undertaker chuckled, amused by her reaction. "I should get going. There's a few things I want to talk to the Earl about. Take care m'lady, little Earl…" He waved goodbye with his sleeve and just as suddenly as he arrived, he vanished. Rachel remained where she was, clutching Ciel closely to her bosom. Ciel giggled and waved at the empty hallways where the Undertaker was.

"Bye bye!

That evening a frightening thought came to Rachel Phantomhive's mind. She was reading Ciel a bedtime story in the cozy rocker a friend of Vincent's had given to them. As she turned the page she remembered her own book, nestled away safely in her own room. The word she was reading got caught in her throat. It couldn't be possible that the book was cursed? She tried to force that silly thought out of her head, but the memory of the evening kept coming back to her. Undertaker's breach of personal space. His smoky voice. His scent, unlike any cologne she had smelled before. His fingers on her shoulders, dangerously close to her breasts… Rachel slammed the book shut.

"Mother?" Ciel looked up at her, wearing a look of disappointment. It was his favourite part of the story. Rachel sighed.

"I'm sorry, dear…" She opened the book again. "Now, where were we?" She'd keep these thoughts bottled up inside. They'd wither away eventually. They just had to. She wouldn't let this man distract her from her duties as a wife and mother. She wouldn't allow these fantasies to run loose inside her.


	2. Chapter 2: The Chrysanthemum

_His voice seemed to surround her. There were no words, only the calming tone. She opened herself to it, let it fill every inch of her until no other sound existed. His arms like black water wrapped around her. She fell limp against him. His voice became her air. Vincent had left and it was only them in the manor. She didn't know how he had gotten in, only that she didn't want him to leave. In the large gray hallway she let him consume her._

Rachel indulged in the area of consciousness between full arousal and deep sleep. Sunlight spilled onto her and her pillow and she could see that gray hallway turning to white. She struggled to hold on to the dream only to have it fade forever out of existence with the sound of Vincent's voice.

"Rachel, are you awake?" She felt him lightly touch her shoulder.

"Yes," She replied, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She looked over at Vincent and was struck with the sickening realization that he was not the man in her dream. "Oh…" She groaned. _Oh no._ She pressed her hands to her ears as if the action would prevent the truth from coming to her. How could she? She was no harlot, she was sure of that. How could she ever dream of another man, and in the very bed she shared with her husband? The fantasy wasn't the worst of it. She actually _enjoyed_ being in the arms of another man. It was disgraceful. It was sinful. It was unforgivable. She tried to breathe in but found herself denied the air as punishment.

"Are you not feeling well?" Vincent asked, a look of concern on his face. "Undertaker told me what happened. I plan to have a stern talk with Ciel about his behavior."

"Oh, Vincent," She moved her hands to cover her eyes, finding herself unable to look at him. She drew in a thin breath and spoke between gasps. "I love you, more than anything else."

"I love you too." Vincent leaned in and placed a kiss on her cheek. "I won't let anything take you away from me. Not this illness. Not anything." He rose from the bed and walked over to the dresser. "I want you to stay and rest today. I'll take Ciel off your hands and take him to the market. It'll give me a chance to speak with him." Rachel opened her mouth to object. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with her thoughts. But she held her tongue. She knew better than to speak against her husband. "I'll have Maryanne check on you." Vincent continued, getting dressed. "It must be all the excitement around here. I try to keep these issues away from you and Ciel, but it seems I've failed." He walked over to Rachel and rested a hand on hers. "I'll get things settled as soon as possible. Everything should return to normal then." He knelt down and kissed her. His lips were as soft and gentle as ever, how could she want anything else? "Take care of yourself, Rachel. Ciel and I will be back before supper." Rachel nodded, not trusting herself to speak, lest her voice come out weak and give her away. She collapsed back into the back once Vincent left. She couldn't bring herself to fall back asleep for fear that the same dream would visit her. Instead she admired the patterns of the blankets, observed the panels on the ceiling, examined the furniture in the room… It was all exhaustingly boring.

Maryanne arrived with breakfast and to check her temperature. Rachel assured her that all she needed was rest and the intrusive nurse soon left. Rest. Rachel despised even the word. She rolled out of her bed and wandered around the bedroom. She had left her knitting needles and yarn in another room. Remembering the blanket, she now desperately wanted to finish it. However, she didn't want to take the chance of running into Maryanne in the hallway and once again becoming the center of her attention. Another thought came to mind, one Rachel initially tried to ignore. However, as the boredom became more and more unbearable she reluctantly resigned to it. She removed Maude's book from its hiding place and took a seat in a chair by the window. She couldn't possibly return to her place in the bed. Not after her dream, and certainly not with this book in hand. After a moment's hesitation she opened to the first page. She should have been more reluctant, rather, she shouldn't have picked up the book at all. But feeling the weight of it in her hands she felt a small surge of adrenaline. This questionable act excited her. Left alone she couldn't deny this. After reading a few sentences she closed it again. Just what was she doing? She bit her lip, and returned to the page. She'd only read a few more sentences. That should be enough to satisfy her curiosity.

Sentences soon turned into pages and pages soon turned into chapters. Throughout it all Rachel found herself relishing in a feeling she never felt to such an extent since her and Vincent were first married. When Maryanne knocked on the door to announce that Vincent and Ciel had arrived home from their trip Rachel felt as though she had been pulled out of another world. It took her a moment to recognize her own bedroom, and then another moment to remember where the book was originally hidden. Once she had fully come to her senses she rushed to hide it. She hoped Maryanne wouldn't expect anything from the sound of her sudden rummaging.

"Are you well enough to join them for supper?" Maryanne asked from behind the door.

"Yes!" Rachel replied, a bit too enthusiastically. "I feel much better. A little rest was all I needed. I'll be down shortly."

Vincent and Ciel were already seated when Rachel arrived in the dining room. Ciel quickly jumped up from his seat and ran over to give her the biggest hug he could.

"Oh, Ciel," Rachel said, leaning down to return the hug. "Did you miss me? You were only gone for a few hours."

"Too long," came Ciel's muffled reply as he buried his face in her skirt. Rachel couldn't help but the smile. She kissed the top of his head and ushered him back to his seat.

"Isn't there something you want to say to mother, Ciel?" Vincent said, fork in hand.

"I'm sorry for running so much yesterday," Ciel said, looking down at his plate.

"It's okay," Rachel took her own seat. "Just listen next time, okay?"

"Okay…"

For the remainder of the dinner Rachel was able to forget about the book and Undertaker. She smiled warmly and listened intently to all that Vincent had to say. She was even able to persuade Ciel to eat the majority of his meal. After eating her modest portion, she leaned back in her seat and breathed a sigh. She let her eyes close for a moment, and when she opened them again the maids had already arrived to clear the table.

"Undertaker will be coming this evening," Vincent mentioned nonchalantly, placing his napkin on the table. "We have a few things we need to discuss." He stood up and rubbed the top of Ciel's head, tousling the child's midnight-blue locks. Rachel felt as though time stopped around her. Every memory that had left her alone for this sacred time rushed back to her.

"Undertaker?" She exclaimed, looking over at Vincent.

"Yes." He replied, puzzled. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no. It's just- No. It's nothing." She couldn't find the words to speak her concerns. Even if she could, now wouldn't be the best time. Not in front of Ciel.

"Rachel, I know the man can be a bit strange at times, but he's a highly respected member of our society." A mortician. Respected. Rachel knew better than to disagree with anything that Vincent had to say. She smiled sweetly and lowered her head in submission.

"Yes. I understand."

"Very good. We shouldn't be but an hour or two." As Vincent left Rachel looked over at Ciel, who found more interest in playing with the last remnants of his food. A maid swiftly swept away his plate, and the child pouted. Rachel remembered his blanket then. She gathered the child up in her arms and carried him to the nursery where the nurse was dutifully cleaning.

"Now go play, dear." She whispered sweetly. "Mother will have a present for you very soon."

"A present?" Ciel repeated, looking up at his mother as he was set down.

"Yes, but you have to behave or you won't get it. Okay?"

"Okay!" He shouted enthusiastically. He made a beeline for his rocking horse, and in a moment was fully engrossed in his play.

"Thank you Anna, for all you do." The brunette nurse turned and briefly nodded before returning to her work.

"It's my pleasure, my lady." Rachel returned to the broad expanse of the hallway. Every step brought back another memory of yesterday. She hummed a tune to distract herself. Surely she was reading too much into things. She rarely even sees the man. If he truly had an interest in her he'd make his presence more known to her. Now, she was certain she had left the blanket in the room in the next hallway. It was the room where one could most clearly see the garden, after all.

She was so absorbed in her mission that she failed to realize her fatal flaw until it was too late. If one speaks of the devil, even in a momentary thought, he is sure to appear. Naiveté has been the downfall of many. She turned the corner into the familiar hallway and was distracted by a spider web that clung to one of the paintings. She stopped and scowled. Were the servants using her weakness as an excuse to neglect their housework? She shook her and as she turned away from it she felt a presence behind her. Before she could react long arms draped over her.

"Are we feeling better today, Lady Phantomhive?" The familiar voice cooed. Rachel was mute with shock. She grabbed onto one of his sleeves. He was much, much too close. How casual his action was, as if she was an old lover he had come to visit. Undertaker chuckled and the weight was removed from her shoulders.

"Un-Undertaker…!" Rachel breathed, quickly turning around to look at the man. He should be with Vincent. Why was this man allowed to roam so freely in their home? Had he no basic understanding of courtesy? Undertaker tilted his head, still wearing his dotty grin.

"Surprised to see me? Hihihi… I just wanted to check up on you, is all."

"A-as you can see I'm quite alright," Rachel stammered out in response. Her hands flew up to her collarbones as if a ghost still remained there. "I-I…" She tripped over her words and her cheeks flushed a bright red. She couldn't force out another word.

"That's wonderful," Undertaker lifted his arms in a superficial shrug. "I wouldn't want to prepare a custom casket for you too early, ihihihihi."

"Oh, don't say things like that!" Rachel retorted, hugging herself. Undertaker lowered his arms and his smile grew a little smaller. He looked for a moment as if he wanted to say something, but instead leaned in and pecked Rachel on the cheek.

"I didn't mean to offend you m'lady…" His voice trailed off. He allowed the rest of his sentence to go unsaid. His wide grin returned, obviously amused by Rachel's reaction to his display of affection. He held a sleeve up to his mouth but did little to suppress his fit of laughter. She hugged herself tighter and shot him a dirty look. Her breaths escaped her nostrils in harsh bursts. "Don't overdo yourself, hihihi… We wouldn't want another episode, would we?" With that he turned and left her. The nerve of that man! To do that to her, and with her husband only a few rooms away. Once she was absolutely sure he was gone, she exhaled loudly. Her heart beat rapidly. The air was scarce. It was clear to her now that the previous evening was no fluke. This man… This mortician had an attraction to her. Realization chilled her to the bone. Could it be that she was attracted to him as well? Her breath came out in noisy gasps and her futile effects to calm herself down did little to stop them. She dragged herself to the where her knitting needles lay. Her movements were automatic, driven more by instinct than a desire to do anything. She lowered herself into her rocking chair and her weakened arms lifted the yarn and needles to her lap. Her hands shook and she found herself unable to complete even a single stitch. She attempted the stitch countless times, her mind somewhere else. She needed to tell Vincent. She pressed her hands into her lap to stop their shaking. She needed to tell Vincent. She needed to. She needed to tell him right away. She abruptly stood up. The yarn and needles tumbled to the ground but all memory of their existence was gone from her.

She briskly walked to the door of the drawing room and stopped. She pressed her palms against the wood and exhaled. As quietly as she could manage, she opened the door a crack and peeked in. Her heart stopped for a moment. Of course, how could she forget? The Undertaker came to see Vincent, after all. It shouldn't have been such a shock to her when she saw the silver-haired man sitting next to Vincent. His arm hung over her husband's shoulders and he leaned in close to him. A grin that almost reached his ears was on his face and he swung a piece of paper loosely from his fingers. Vincent was smiling as well, looking remarkably comfortable with this man so close to him. He opened his eyes and said something to the Undertaker, then looked up as if startled by something. Rachel's breathing stopped. She would have closed the door completely and hurried down the hallway for fear of being caught had it not been for the sight of little Ciel running towards the men. The child was giggling as he attempted to climb his way up the mortician's robes into his lap. Vincent's smile faded for a moment. It returned as he addressed the child.

"Ciel, what are you doing here?" He spoke with a gentle and amused voice. He was such a kind man… No matter what trouble the child caused, he was always patient with him.

"Undertaker!" Ciel exclaimed. All progress was lost as he slid down the man's leg. Undertaker chuckled and picked the boy up.

"And how are we, little Earl?"

"Good!" Undertaker chuckled and Ciel giggled in reply. Vincent watched the happy reunion, resting his head on his hand. Rachel quietly closed the door.

He was adored by her family. Even Ciel who was so shy around any strangers he met greeted Undertaker like a beloved uncle. How could she tell Vincent? Whenever she was troubled it was always him she turned to. No matter how miniscule her problem, she always consulted him. But in this manner, she felt completely alone. She couldn't disrupt this peace. She couldn't bring herself to slander the name of a man so respected in her household. And she knew all that was in her heart would run from her lips like a stream if she attempted to. She couldn't tell Vincent of her concerns without mentioning the kiss, the man's arms around her, her own feelings… She knew she'd confess her dream to him as well. No secret shame would be hidden. Running a hand through her hair, she backed away from the door. What a disgraceful woman she was. She retreated to the garden, where the flowers would know of her feelings and comfort her.


	3. Chapter 3: The Tuberose

Days passed without mention of the mortician. With his absence Rachel was able to focus more on running the household. The dill flowers which had grown at an alarming rate in the garden were disposed of finally. No webs adorned the walls of any of the hallways. Ciel squealed with delight when he received his new blanket. Today the air was warm and clear. All of the windows were open wide in the bedroom, and the refreshing breeze that blew in was life-saving for Rachel. Abigail tugged at the strings of her corset with far too much passion. Her slender leg was raised, her foot pressed against one of the pillars of the bed. Rachel could feel her chest hurt with every breath she inhaled.

"Abigail, _please,_ " She gasped. "This is _fine_." Abigail relaxed her tug on the strings and Rachel exhaled loudly.

"I'm sorry m'lady," Abigail quickly said, her pale face flushed again. "It's just-"

"It's fine, Abigail. Don't worry." Rachel smiled warmly. No matter how overbearing the girl could be at times, she never could seem to be angry with her.

Breakfast had ended and Rachel was changing into her second dress of the day. It was her least favourite wardrobe change, for it required her to don a gown with a high collar. Rachel despised high collars, the way they wrapped around her neck and threatened to strangle her. The style of the time was of course constricting, but this fact never bothered Rachel or even crossed her mind until she slipped into a dress with that dreadful collar… Often, she could get away with wearing a lower cut dress during the day. However, today Sir Autteberry and his wife would be arriving for tea. She couldn't escape custom this time. Another maid whose name escaped Rachel was already putting the upper layers of clothing on by the time Abigail finished tying the strings together. Rachel stood still, looking out of the window, her arms extended as the women hurriedly dressed her. She felt like a Christmas tree, standing deathly still while other decorated her as they saw fit. Another maid came to stand in front of her and block her view of the outside world. She was very young, barely out of the stage of childhood. She dipped her tiny fingers into a round container and smeared a thick paste onto Rachel's cheek.

"Gertrude!" Abigail snapped upon realizing what the young girl was doing. The girl jumped and the container rolled to the floor. "Lady Phantomhive doesn't need to wear makeup in the presence of visitors!"

"How gaudy," Another maid sneered. The young girl looked back at Abigail, her eyes wide with shock. Her small mouth opened and closed like a fish, unable to find the right words to address her mistake.

"It's quite all right," Rachel said softly, smiling at the girl. "Your intentions were good. That's all that matters." The fish-girl looked back at Rachel, her expression not changing. After a moment she quickly nodded and picked up the container of makeup. She hurriedly grabbed a handkerchief and began to wipe the paste off of Rachel's face.

After an eternity, the maids finally retreated and Rachel was left alone in her room. As soon as she was sure they were a good distance away, she unbuttoned the collar of her dress and breathed in deeply. She still had a good deal of time before Sir Autteberry and his wife arrived. She sat on the foot of her bed and looked longingly at the sheets. Vincent was a busy man. Even under the guise of sleep it seemed as though he was always working. Rachel slowly lowered herself onto the bed. She ran a hand over the place Vincent's sleeping body would occupy at night. She had read a good deal of her stolen novel since her second encounter with Undertaker in the hallway. She couldn't help but to wonder which reality was more unreasonable.

The novel Maude had held in such high regard tells the story of a wealthy woman who to tries to fill a void in her heart left by her unavailable husband. She is a regular at every ball held in her society and she enjoys frequent tea parties with acquaintances. One day the woman realizes that her loneliness cannot be satisfied by the company of other women. After ending one of her grand tea parties early, she wanders alone through her garden. She is then greeted by her gardener, a man she has never met before, but one that has been a member of the household staff for many years. The two begin an illicit romance, one that is able to thrive as a result of the husband's persistent absence from the manor.

The husband's absence was a theme present both in the novel's world and Rachel's. The loneliness was a bitter staple in the Phantomhive household as well. Rachel could accept these circumstances as a universal truth. However, as she read farther, she began to question her own reality.

Rachel grabbed a fistful of the comforter. Against her better judgment she rose and retrieved the book. With great hesitation she lowered herself onto the bed again. She tried to put off the inevitable by reading a few tame passages of the book, as if to prove to some omniscient entity that she was merely perusing the entire book, looking for no scene in particular. Eventually she was able to gather the courage to return to that bawdy passage that forced her to close the book during her last reading. Biting her lip, she started to read. Though her cheeks returned to their rosy tint and her eyes still flew to the door at intervals, she found the passage easier to read than during her previous attempt. Again she felt transported to that world. She was no longer lying in her bed, but was draped over the chesterfield, eyeing her gardener seductively. Soon her eyes abandoned the door and remained on the pages. No sudden disturbance could tear then away from the story.

Her eyes greedily devoured every page. Her body grew hot and she squeezed her legs together. There was an emptiness in the pit of her stomach that begged to be filled. Setting the book down, she turned into the pillow and sighed. When was the last time Vincent had touched her? As a work-oriented man, he possessed a weak libido. He was fond of small kisses here and there and perhaps even the occasional embrace. However, like a proper gentleman, he saw any intimacy beyond that reserved especially for procreation. He had received his son. By some miracle, his sickly, feeble wife had birthed him a son. Her duty was done and there was no reason to carry on with the deed except in the rare moments of extreme weakness. But even when those sensuous nights did occur, they did not happen as described in the book. Does a woman truly quiver with pleasure? Do her lips really part for the escape of gasps and moans? And what was this release, this sudden loss of control of the body and animalistic intensity?

The descriptions captivated Rachel. She had never experienced them before. When she lie with Vincent, her pleasure came from having him close to her, his satisfied grunt indicating to her that she had served her husband well. Were men from the lower class truly more attentive to the woman's pleasure? Did they really make their woman's toes curl in ecstasy? Rachel quickly sat up. She closed the book, a few of its leaves becoming dog-eared in her hurry to put it away. A lady of her standing had no need for something so primitive. Still, the wanton ache between her legs would not cease. Squeezing her legs together only increased her need. She walked to the window and inhaled deeply the warm scents of the garden. Despite her attempts at distraction her mind was still focused on the definition of pleasure. Eventually her thoughts started to wander back to that man.

Being a mortician, it was only natural that he belonged to the working class despite his connections with Vincent and the other noblemen. The breath Rachel exhaled was shaky, becoming caught in her throat and forced out abruptly. Her breathing become more and more erratic as she started to wonder if that silver-haired man shared the same qualities as that gardener. She thought back to those moments, how casual he was with her. Was it because he was used to being in the company of women? Rachel shut her eyes and moved away from the window. She buttoned up the collar of her gown and decided that she would fancy a walk. Staying in that room, the sinful thoughts would only continue to circle through the air and assault her.

Rachel's attention had been all but consumed by the violets. The little fragments of sky, complete with their own sun blossomed throughout the flowerbed. To Rachel's distaste the flowers hid themselves underneath the larger blooms. She narrowed her eyes and bit her lip. She'd certainly have a talk with—No. No. _Vincent_ will have a talk with the gardener about his poor craftsmanship. She turned away from the shy beauties and continued her walk. As her eyes scanned the numerous flowers horror suddenly struck her. Those dill weeds were back. Feeling a sudden surge of fury Rachel decided not to wait to have the gardener remove them again. She reached down and tore the flowers out of the dirt, flinging them away from her without a second thought. An explosion of dirt followed their ejection. It splattered in clumps onto her carnation pink dress. Rachel quickly attempted to dust the debris off. However, a few smudges remained. Sighing, she examined her hands, which were delicately wrapped in white silk gloves. They, too were stained. Sullied with the yellow of those heinous dill flowers….

Rachel couldn't help but to giggle at Abigail's attempt to conceal her frustration. The young woman asked Rachel what she was thinking, sullying the dress she had just put on. She chose her words carefully, trying her hardest despite her irritation not to offend the noblewoman. However, to Rachel she seemed just like a mother. Rachel giggled her apology, teasing the woman lightly on her ever-present rosy hue. Once her new outfit was picked out and she was clothed, she was informed that Sir Auteberry had arrived. Rachel thanked Abigail for all of her hard work and turned to leave the room. A gasp escaped from her and a hand flung to her chest when a male figure suddenly darkened the doorway.

"I'm sorry, did I startle you?" Vincent wore an apologetic smile. The corners of his eyebrows rose, giving him the innocent look of a puppy.

"No, no" Rachel exhaled. "I just wasn't expecting you. I thought you already left to greet Sir Auteberry."

"I thought we'd head down together."

"Yes, of course."

Vincent held out his hand and Rachel gingerly took it. It seemed colder than a man's hand should be, she thought as they walked down the hallway. Even though their skin touched, she felt a distance between them. She squeezed his hand a little tighter to convince herself that there was none.

"What's wrong?" Vincent asked. Rachel shook her head.

Dinner with Sir Auteberry and his wife was very pleasant. Rachel found herself grateful to have the company of a woman other than one of the servants or that abnormal Maude. Rachel and Madame Auteberry left the men to discuss business matters and retreated to the parlor. Madame Auteberry, a proud woman, was never one for conversation. Rachel found herself a little frightened of her, for the woman was known to be quite caustic in conversation. Rachel knew better than to attempt to confide in her. She was surprised when it was Madame Auteberry who spoke to her first.

"Ladies these days…" She muttered in her deep voice. "They have no sense of shame."

"I bed your pardon?"

"I'm sure you've heard of Lady Crawford and her degenerate of a husband."

"No, I don't believe I have."

"Well," Madame Auteberry spoke quieter, but more clearly, leaning in closer. "The word is Lady Crawford's been crying over her husband's infidelity. She latches onto any attention she can get a hold of, like a shameless whore."

"Oh," Rachel found herself unsure of how to respond. "Oh my…"

"She is an embarrassment as a wife." Madame Auteberry continued. "Perhaps instead of weeping she should be taking better care of her husband. Yet there she is, flaunting her failures to the public." She shook her head in disapproval. "Men are creatures driven by instinct, Lady Phantomhive. It is the duty of the woman to assure that these instincts remain in check. Provide for them a comfortable home, feed them, allow them to rest in peace, and satisfy their carnal needs. This is the woman's sole purpose." Rachel nodded, feeling uneasy. "But don't believe I place the blame solely on Lady Crawford. Those other whores, fornicating with a married man… It makes me sick. Women no longer know their place…" Rachel's grip on her teacup tightened, she looked over at the door, desperately hoping someone would come and cut Madame Auteberry's tirade short. "It is an unmarried woman's responsibility to extinguish man's desire and prevent them from falling into sin. The Almighty Lord had placed us on this earth to serve man, not push him farther into the bowels of Hell." Rachel chuckled nervously, now silently praying to the Lord to free her from the bowels of this conversation. A long silence followed. Rachel took a long sip from her teacup, avoiding any eye contact. It seemed the silence was only due to the fact that Madame Auteberry, too, was taking a sip from her cup. "And another thing…" Madame Auteberry continued.

The evening had left Rachel exhausted. She crawled into bed and would have fallen asleep instantly if a thought had not crossed her mind. She looked over to where Vincent was laying. His breathing was steady. His broad chest rose slightly with every breath. She worried that he had already fallen asleep, but decided that she would take a chance anyway. She closed the distance between them, a distance that seemed to stretch on into eternity. She placed a hand on his chest and sat up a little. Vincent opened one eye and looked at her, smiling faintly. Rachel took a moment to contemplate the consequences of her actions. Finding no possible result detrimental, she leaned in and passionately kiss him. Vincent chuckled against her lips. He reached out and took hold of her arm.

"What has gotten into you?" He asked, pushing her gently away.

"Vincent…" Rachel trailed off. How could she approach this? Finding no other argument, she uttered, "I want another child." Vincent chuckled.

"One child's enough, don't you think?" He said in an amused voice. "I'm forever thankful that the birth went as smoothly as it did. But why tempt fate, Rachel?" She didn't answer. After a moment she nodded. Vincent ran his fingers lightly over her cheek, turned away, and fell asleep. Rachel didn't move. She watched Vincent. His breath soon became steady again. He drifted quickly into sleep, oblivious of her want. When she found herself unable to bear it any longer she rolled over and stared at the wall. Tears welled up in her eyes and she angrily rubbed them away. Eventually, once it seemed as though the night was almost over, she finally fell asleep.

 _More…_

 _More…_

 _It was her own voice echoing through the room, but her lips didn't move. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangled in his hair. His silver hair fell over her like a curtain. It felt as though she were melting. "More…" She pleaded with him, the word ending with a soft moan. The man smiled, his eyes hidden, as always. He pulled her closer to him and she felt an unfamiliar sensation run blossom in her stomach. The feeling branched out like roots up her spine and down her arms. She desperately clung to him, her breath coming out in gasps. If only there was a way to get closer… If only…_

Rachel Phantomhive awoke with a start. The sun had just begun to rise and the room was drenched in a soft morning blue. The windows had been left open, and the room was chilly, but Rachel flung the blankets off of her as if they were burning her. She paced the room, her hands shaking. It couldn't be… She repeated the phrase over and over. It couldn't be… It couldn't be… She walked over to the window and leaned out. The cold air helped to wake her up, but still it could not release her from that dream. Carnal pleasure. It was in every nerve of her body, so intense it felt real. Even now her thighs felt damp. How ashamed she was… She bit her lip until it bled. Her nails dug into the smooth wood of the windowpane. It was shameful, truly shameful. However, it wasn't the physical feeling that caused the majority of the tumult in her heart. In that man's arms… She felt safe. She felt that warm, comfortable feeling of love and adoration as he pressed his lips against her tender neck. It shouldn't be possible. Tears ran down Rachel's cheeks but she couldn't summon any true sadness. How could it be possible, for her to love another man?


	4. Chapter 4: The Geranium

Chapter 4: The Geranium

As the early morning blue was replaced with the harsh yellow of day, Rachel crawled back into her bed. She lay there, wide awake, and as the room got brighter she finally found herself becoming more and more tired. Just as she was about to reclaim the sleep that had been taken from her, Vincent stirred. He yawned and stretched and turned to smile at her.

"Good morning dear," He said. Rachel smiled back, unable to bring herself to say anything. "Today's going to be a good day," He assured her. Vincent sat up and rose his arms above his head. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, very much so."

"Enough to take a trip down to the market? Ciel was so disappointed you couldn't go with us last time…" Vincent leaned back against the headboard and gave Rachel a pleading look.

"Of course," Rachel replied quickly, a feeling of guilt washing over her. What kind of mother would she be if she denied her child her attention? Her smile faded. She held tightly onto the comforter. Though, wasn't that just she had been doing these past few days? So engrossed in her own frivolous concerns she had neglected her poor child. She'd become a mother hardly worth her salt. Rachel jumped out of bed and balled her hand up into a fist. She could not, would not let this man distract her from what was important. All of these lustful thoughts of him she would banish from her mind with every fiber of her being. As Rachel began preparing to go down for breakfast, Vincent remained in bed. He watched his wife radiate with the youthful zest that had been absent from her for many days. Finally he smiled and got out of bed as well.

Ciel was incorrigible that morning. So excited was he for the field trip he could hardly sit still. Rachel was never a strict mother, she never believed in the widely held idea that children were merely miniature adults. She always believed that they should be allowed to play and have as much fun as they could. However, this morning she was alarmingly strict with the boy. Both Vincent and Ciel became deathly quiet after her scolding. The gusto Vincent saw before seemed to mutate into something frightening even to him. He believed her level of energy came from the amount of rest she had gotten the past few days. An overabundance of the spirit in the absence of her illness. He never assumed that Rachel was desperately trying to bring herself back to the image of the ideal mother. Finally Vincent spoke up, breaking the uncomfortable silence Rachel's scolding has brought.

"I have good news, Ciel," He said, looking up from his plate and smiling at the child.

"What's that?"

"Your fiancé will be coming with us today," The little boy's eyes seemed to sparkle then. He rose his arms above him in triumph.

"Yay! Lizzie!" Vincent chuckled.

"So, make sure you finish your breakfast, okay? She'll be here soon."

"Yah!"

Rachel parted her lips, but no sound came out. She sank in her chair, looking at her child who had just a moment before shriveled in the wake of her voice, its volume far too loud for the table. She was trying too hard to seem motherly. It was unnatural to her and she feared the disguise would make the truth even more conspicuous. The guilt she felt earlier now seemed to swim through her veins, taking the place of her blood.

In the carriage Rachel reprimanded herself silently for her behaviour during breakfast. It seemed as though Ciel had forgotten all about the ordeal, however. He sat across from Lizzie and stared excitedly out the window. He would point to something out in the distance, then turn to Lizzie and exclaim something. She turned away from him to find Vincent looking at her. He smiled softly and placed a hand on hers.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," Rachel said quickly, looking down to avoid eye-contact. "I just… got a bit carried away…" Vincent squeezed her hand.

"You're a good mother, Rachel." He removed his hand and leaned to stare out the window. Rachel's heart stopped for just a moment. Could he know her intention? Vincent changed the subject, continuing to talk nonchalantly. "We should be there soon." Ciel and Lizzie cheered, swinging their legs vigorously and kicking the seats. Rachel forced a smile. Leaning against the door of the carriage she, too, looked out. The streets of London were just as she remembered them. Crowded and dreary, she wondered how these streets could incite such excitement in the children. The carriage came to a halt. Ciel and Lizzie bounced in their seats as the coachman opened the door. Rachel pulled up her skirt as she gingerly stepped out. Vincent attempted to have Ciel assist his fiancé in getting out of the carriage. But the both of them were too excited for any lessons in manners. They hopped out of the carriage and ran around in circles. Vincent sighed and looked over at Rachel. Rachel forced a small chuckle. She dared not attempt to reprimand them, for fear she would make the same mistake she had in the morning.

It seemed as though everyone had come out to take advantage of the beautiful warm day. There was enough of a variety to attract visitors of every age. Many of the stalls were so crowded it was difficult to see what they were selling. Gentlemen in top hats with luxuriant mustaches were discussing the craftsmanship of the wares at one of the booths. A young boy was begging his mother for some novelty that was being promoted. A young woman clung to the arm of her lover, thanking him profusely for her gift. Rachel looked at Vincent. He examined each stall they passed, not showing any sign of interest. Her gaze fell to his arm. She wanted to reach out and hold on to him, just like the young woman had with her lover. But they were older, more mature in their romance. Vincent would just pull away to examine some item sooner or later. Instead Rachel turned her attention to Ciel and Lizzie. She gently called to them not to run too far ahead, but her words were swallowed up by the crowd and had not reached their ears. The children scurried through the throng of people, slipping through any opening big enough. Rachel's heart sank. She had lost sight of them.

"Oh, Vincent!" She cried, holding her hands to her mouth in horror. "The children! They've ran off!" Vincent pulled his gaze away from a booth specializing in glasswork and scanned the crowd.

"Don't worry," He said calmly. "We'll find them…" He took Rachel's hand and walked briskly through the crowd, muttering apologies to those he pushed to the side. He let out a relieved chuckle when he spotted them. "Well, look at that." In contrast, Rachel clasped her hands together and the color drained from her face. Her breath caught in her throat. She felt her blood run cold. She felt now that the abundance of people existed only to cage her in. That man. He stood up, ending his conversation with Ciel. Lizzie was attempting to hide behind the little boy, frightened by the mortician's appearance. Her stance seemed to infer however, that she would be the one pulling Ciel away from danger instead. Undertaker waved. "Fancy seeing you here," Vincent said, putting his hands in his pockets.

"I was just returning from some work," The mortician replied. "When I noticed this little market here, ihihihi…."

"Quite the turnout, isn't it?"

"That it is. Maybe I should open up shop here, ihihihi…"

"That's one way to cut down the crowd. They'd take one look at your store and run off." Vincent patted Undertaker on the shoulder and they both laughed.

"You were always the funniest one out of the bunch, Earl. Those other old gaffers could put me to sleep in an instant, the way they drone on…"

"Father!" Ciel interrupted the men's conversation. He called for Vincent like a broken record. "Father! Father! Father!"

"Just a minute, Ciel," Vincent called back. Undertaker chuckled.

"It's alright, Earl." Vincent muttered an apology and walked over to Ciel, who was frantically pointing to an over-stuffed toy rabbit. Undertaker watched him walk away, and then glided over to Rachel like a ghost.

"And how are we today, my lady?" He grinned broadly. Rachel crossed her arms and refused to look at him. The thought of looking at him made her nervous. She harbored an irrational fear that her heart may betray her. His arm snaked its way around her shoulders. She couldn't move fast enough to escape his embrace. She felt her body grow hot under his touch. Undertaker leaned in farther, blocking her view of Vincent and the children. "It's good to see you're well enough to go out." His thin fingers twirled around a lock of her golden hair that had come loose from its confinement.

"Y…es…." Rachel replied weakly, finally looking at him. As always his eyes were covered by a sheet of hair, but he tilted his head in such a way that their intoxicating color could be seen. The realization that Vincent was only a few feet away, that he could turn around at any moment sent a spark of electricity pulsating through her veins. Undertaker had proven himself before to be an unpredictable man in the past. When if he attempted to kiss her, like the gardener had while the husband was busy with reading the newspaper? Rachel shamefully confessed to herself that she would not resist if he did. Undertaker chuckled, leaning in so close that their noses almost touched. Her breathing quickened. He couldn't possibly…

"Rachel!" Vincent called. Rachel could feel her heart stop. Her body had turned to stone and the dreadful, all-consuming feeling of panic washed over her. Undertaker's smile disappeared and he stepped away from her. Ready at the tip of her tongue were a multitude of apologies, excuses, and pleas. She had not the breath to vocalize them, however. She suddenly found she hadn't any breath at all. Before she could fall fully into the throes of panic, she collapsed.

When she awoke she was still in the marketplace. Black surrounded her, it took her a moment to realize that she was in Undertaker's arms. Her breathing was weak and she turned towards him as she struggled to gather her strength. She grabbed the front of his coat.

"Rachel! Rachel, are you alright?"

"She just fainted, is all…" Rachel turned to find Vincent kneeling down beside here. His brows were furrowed with worry.

"Oh, Vincent," She sighed, remembering what had happened before she fainted. "I'm so sorry." She brought her hand to her forehead.

"You mustn't apologize. This is all my fault,"

"N-no, I-"

"I shouldn't have brought you out so early. I asked too much of you," She didn't know what to say. He wasn't angry with her because of Undertaker? He hadn't seen what had transpired? "We'll take you home right away," The remnants of panic were aroused in her. She didn't want to go back to that place, where nothing could distract her. Against her better judgment, she tried to protest.

"No! No really, I'm fine… I—"

"You fainted Rachel."

"But I'm fine now!" Vincent shook his head. Rachel tried to get up, giving the Undertaker a harder than necessary push. He conceded to her sudden force and moved back. However, he glided back when it became apparent that she would need some assistance in standing up.

"We'll leave right away. Ciel. Elizabeth. We're leaving." Ciel let out a weak cry. He hugged the toy rabbit tightly and tears had started to well up in his eyes. Lizzie pouted, looking down at her feet.

"No need to spoil the tots' fun," Undertaker interjected. "I can take Lady Phantomhive home."

"Not in that hearse."

"Oh please Vincent," Rachel pleaded. "Ciel will be so disappointed…" Vincent sighed.

"You can take my carriage,"

"Vincent-"

"You must rest, Rachel," Vincent spoke with such authority that any protest seemed to go against nature. Rachel looked down at her lap and did not say another word.

"Make sure you tell one of the servants to call Anne right away," Vincent ordered from outside the carriage. He paused, bit his lip, and looked at Rachel. "Perhaps… it would be best to take her to the hospital…"

"She'll be fine, Earl. Ladies these days have an awful habit of fainting."

"But not Rachel—"

"I'm fine, Vincent." Rachel leaned forward in her seat to see her husband better. "Truly I am. Please don't trouble Anne." Vincent remained quiet.

"The children and I will be home soon," He said finally.

"Please don't rush. Tell Ciel and Lizzie that I'm sorry. I must have ruined their day…"

"Don't talk nonsense."

The carriage bounced down the cobblestone road. Rachel peered out the window, her fingernails digging into the window pane. She dared not look into the carriage. There was too great an opportunity for something to go wrong. She heard Undertaker let out a contented sigh. He started to hum a tune that was familiar to her, but impossible for her discern. She slowly turned to look at him. He sat directly across from her, his head resting against the door. He watched her, smiling. Rachel thought to herself that now would be the perfect time to confront him. If she told him aloud that she would not betray Vincent, with enough conviction, perhaps she could convince herself. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted.

"Your color's coming back," Undertaker commented, leaning forward slightly. "But whether pale as marble or pink as a tulip, you're as lovely as always, my lady." Rachel's cheeks burned.

"Undertaker, please…." She wanted the words to come out with force, in a voice that thundered with confidence. Instead it slipped out in a weak whisper and quickly fell apart in the air. Undertaker chuckled.

"You know," Undertaker hopped over to sit next to her. He wrapped an arm around her. "I don't have the right type of wood just yet. It wouldn't do if you dropped dead so soon, ihihihihi…." Rachel stared blankly straight ahead at the now empty seat. "I couldn't make a coffin that'd do you justice." He lightly pinched her cheek.

"Why must you always talk like that?" She said, the words not nearly as harsh as she wanted them to be. She was still struggling to not look at him. How she wished she didn't have these feelings. How she wished this would be enough. Her eyes started to burn with the tears she struggled to keep back. Her throat tightened and ached. But if she carried on any longer like this, it would surely destroy her. She wiped away her tears and looked back out of the window, hoping he didn't notice. Suddenly, she felt herself pulled closer to him. Her head, cradled by his hand, rested in the crook of his neck. Undertaker didn't speak. He stroked her hair and squeezed her closer to him.

"I always forget," He finally murmured. "How delicate humans can be…"

All concept of time had been lost. Being held so close to him, she felt some longing in her start to disperse. It was a feeling that always seemed natural to her. She never paid attention to it, never saw it as foreign until it started to leave her. She felt safe in his arms, as though this action was right in the path of fate. Of course, she knew she should push him away, declare she was fine and apologize for her inappropriate behavior. A woman of stricter upbringing might even slap him. But she convinced herself that her hesitation to act was due to shock. She couldn't be condemned for taking a moment to make sense of things. Her definition of a moment grew more and more distorted until it threatened to stretch on to the end of the ride to the manor. But the Undertaker let go of her. His thin fingers wrapped themselves gently around her chin and guided it up so that he could look at her.

"Are we feeling better?" His smile didn't carry the same quality of mirth that it usually did. Rachel ignored his question, address instead a question she posed to herself. Should she confess to him here? Should she let him know that she knew just what it was he was doing? In the new space between them she found something else she wanted to address, however. She didn't trust herself to speak. Those words would tumble from her lips tangled together and unintelligible. She decided, against her better judgment, that her actions would speak louder and clearer. She knew now that she couldn't ignore these feelings, no matter how hard she tried. That cryptic for that hung over him would always draw her to him. So she would lay him out bare, erase all mystery from him. She would start with those eyes. Those eyes, in their hiding, seemed almost inhuman to her. She ran her fingers through his bangs. His hair was surprisingly soft. She quickly pushed it back, fearful that if she hesitated any longer, he would stop her. She let out a small gasp and his hair fell back in place. There was no doubt. There was something inhuman in his eyes. Her hand hung in the air for a moment before coming to rest on his cheek. She could rid herself of that dreadful "what if." This carriage offered the best opportunity. This level of seclusion couldn't be achieved again. She leaned in closer. Her lips lightly brushed his and she felt him flinch. Of course, how could he expect such a rash action by Rachel Phantomhive? It was unlike her. But, then again in his presence she never truly felt like herself. Before she could do anything else carriage came to a stop. The sound of the coachman coming to the door quickly snapped Rachel out of her trance. She jumped to the other side of the carriage, as far away from Undertaker as she could. She managed to regain her composure by the time the coachman opened the door. She took his hand and thanked him as she stepped out of the carriage.

The air outside seemed thinner. She tried to steady her breathing so that it did not arouse suspicion in the coach. Smoothing out her dress, she walked to the manor, careful not to walk too quickly. Once she entered the foyer Rachel lost all sense of direction she might have had. She knew as an obedient wife she should retreat to her room where she will rest once again. But the thought of returning to that was inconceivable to her. Reality now seemed overwhelming. What was she thinking? She covered her face with her hands and started to pace. How awful. What a horrible thing for her to do. When she heard the door open again she tried to hurry up the stairs. But every ounce of air suddenly left her and she fell to her knees. Damn these lungs. She pulled down on the fabric of her skirt in frustration. Tears burned in the corners of her eyes.

"My Lady!" Abigail's voice echoed through the room. She practically flew down the stairs to Rachel's side. "My goodness! Are you okay!? I'll call a doctor. My goodness, we need to get you to the hospital!"

"No!" Rachel said, unnaturally loud. She softened her voice when she spoke again, struggling to keep her breathing steady. "I'm fine, Abigail. Vincent's sent me home to rest. The uh… The market was just a bit too… overwhelming for me, is all." A step creaked behind her. Her breath left her again as Undertaker swept her up in his arms.

"I've never seen Lady Phantomhive act so funny," He commented as he carried her up the stairs. Abigail followed close behind. "If you aren't careful, my Lady, people will start to think you're suffering from hysterics, ihihihihi…" Rachel could feeling herself melting in his arms. She never thought he could be so strong. She looked behind him and saw Abigail. The reverie was once again shattered. She bit her lip. This was too much. Abigail would surely piece things together. Rachel struggled to squirm out of his arms but failed. Once they arrived at her room, she addressed Abigail.

"Abigail, could you please ask the cooks to prepare some tea?" Abigail was hesitant to leave her side, especially in the presence of a suspicious-looking man. With enough persuasion from Rachel, however, she finally left. Undertaker lowered Rachel into a seat by the window.

"Well, I'd best be leaving," He said, tipping his hat.

"W-wait..." Undertaker turned back, sporting an uncharacteristic frown. "I… I need to talk to you."

"Maybe when you're feeling better." Before she could reply, he vanished. There was not even the sounds of his footsteps down the hall. She wasn't expecting him to leave so quickly. It was to expected, she later convinced herself. After all, Abigail had seen him carry her to her room. It was too great a risk. Rachel breathed in deeply. She peered out the window. The corpses of the dill weeds still lay in the walkway. She would see to it the gardener was fired.

Abigail returned rather quickly with the tea. She looked around the room before hurrying over to Rachel.

"Just who was that man?" She demanded, pouring the tea. "Being alone with him, Lady Phantomhive, that's much too indecent—"

"He's a close friend of Vincent's." She could feel her heart pounding in her throat.

"And where is Vincent?" Abigail's question, along with her tone, cut through Rachel like a dagger.

"…He and the children are still at the marketplace," She finally answered. "I had fainted and needed to be escorted home." Abigail handed Rachel her cup.

"I see…" She replied flatly. She refused to leave Rachel's side for the remainder of the afternoon, save for a short trip downstairs to contact Rachel's sister Anne. She then returned and interrogated the poor woman for details on the eerie-looking man. The whole ordeal was torture to Rachel, who wanted more than anything to forget what had transpired. She was immensely grateful when Vincent and the children returned.

Hearing the pounding footsteps of the children down the hallway, she was eager to greet them. She would have gotten up to meet them halfway if it weren't for the inevitable reprimand she would have gotten from Vincent.

"Mother!" Ciel squealed as he ran into the room, Lizzie close behind him. Abigail attempted to calm the children down, but such a skill was foreign to her. Ciel quickly climbed into Rachel's lap. "We got you a present, Mother!" He said, raising his hand to show her a sunshine yellow ribbon that was clenched in his fist.

"Oh, it's lovely, Ciel…" She cooed, wrapping her arms around him.

"It's just like mine!" Lizzie added, pointing to the ribbons that were tied in her thick golden hair.

"Oh, how lovely! We'll match…" Vincent appeared in the doorway. He walked over to Rachel and knelt down beside her.

"Ciel, Lizzie, why don't you two play with Sebastian? I'm sure he's eager to see his new toy."

"Yah!" Ciel shouted, hopping out of Rachel's lap. "Let's go, Lizzie!" He grabbed her hand and they both ran out of the room.

"Anne will be here first thing tomorrow. She said that there may be a medicine that can help you." Vincent said once the children had left.

"I don't want to trouble her…"

"You're her sister, Rachel. It's no trouble at all." Vincent stood up and began to open the windows. "Right now what you need is as much fresh air as possible. That marketplace smelled rather unpleasant. That may be what caused you to faint."

"Yes!" Rachel eagerly agreed. "Yes. Of course." Vincent looked out the window. His brow furrowed.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel…" He said quietly. "But I need to take care of some things this evening." He returned to her side, leaned down, and kissed her cheek. "The garden's looking lovely. Maybe the flowers will help you. They smell wonderful." He rose and made his way to the door. He hesitated in the doorway. Rachel could see how painful it was for him. Her heart ached. Vincent exhaled loudly. "We'll find a cure someday. I'm sure of it." He left, his footsteps echoing down the hall. Rachel leaned back in her chair. Her cheeks grew red with embarrassment and guilt. This agitation in her symptoms was punishment, she was sure. Punishment for an inadequate wife, unfaithful in her heart.


	5. Chapter 5: The Bird of Paradise

Rachel was at her weakest when she was asleep. In her dreams he always visited her. He cured her illness, his warm breath on her neck seeping through her skin and healing her lungs. He was the oxygen she craved so desperately. He was like an herb, a physician, a miracle in the flesh. But when she awoke it only seemed that her body wanted to punish her for dreams she could not control. Heavy dread awoke with her, it slid down her veins like black tar. She immediately realized her throat was painfully tight and wondered if it had been the entire time she was sleeping. Panic erased her drowsiness. She flew to the window and stuck her head out to breathe in fresh air. She breathed heavily, gulping down as much of the cool and crisp early morning air as she could. These spells always seemed to last ages, and this one was no exception. By the time she could breathe normally and her panic was gone, the sun had started to wake. The delicate infant rays of daylight spilled over her. She wilted in the presence of them, slumping heavily against the windowsill.

She had always been a docile woman, forever capitulating unless met with the most dire of situations. If she submitted to her father, and then to her husband, it would seem only natural that she would also submit to the other forces that claimed dominion over her. As her illness worsened, anyone who knew Rachel would predict that the woman would retreat like a mouse. She would curl up in her bed, breathing in aromas to soothe her ailing lungs. She would not dare move a muscle, for fear of agitating her condition. She would rely solely on her husband for support, all the while haunted by the realization that she could not fulfill her wifely duties.

But, perhaps it was this very notion that caused Rachel to retaliate as she had. As her illness grew worse, she found herself growing more and more stubborn. She could submit to her men, but where would it end? It seemed as though she was growing more and more influenced by Maude and her dreadful book. She discovered some hint of rebellion in her that she had never felt before. It was frightening, of course, for a woman of her status. But it was surprisingly and shamefully invigorating. Abigail and the other servants feared that the illness would claim her life soon enough. But Rachel could still feel liveliness running through her veins. It rested in her bones and grew with every successful breath she took. Even in the midst of her worst attacks, she felt certain of her existence and the continuation of it. She listened to Vincent, however, and allowed herself to be bedridden for some time. But how her limbs ached with excess vigor! How she tossed and turned, begged for Ciel to visit her in the hopes that his childish energy would exhaust her as it normally had. How she played with her hair, wiggled her toes, devoured pages upon pages of the book, removed and reapplied her blankets. How, once left with nothing, the agitation she felt started to build. It slouched her posture when she received the news that Anne would be late in her arrival. It superheated her blood when the doctor who arrived in Anne's place accused her of being stricken with vapours. In a great moment of weakness, she even thought to herself that she'd like to smack him.  
When Anne arrived a few days later she was beside herself with remorse. She collapsed onto the bed, wrapping her arms around her older sister.

"Oh, dearest sister!" Anne lamented. "When I heard about your condition, I wanted to visit you as soon as I could! But the heavy rains kept me in the house, and when I could venture outside the hospital was abound with ailing patients. They wouldn't let me leave, even to see my sister. I could never apologize enough— "

"It's fine, Anne," Rachel cooed, resting a hand on her sister's brilliant red hair. "Even if you are the only woman there, they show you no sympathy, do they?" Anne looked down.  
"Even so, I should have insisted— "

"No. Your patients needed you. And I'm sure your colleagues would have missed your pretty face." Rachel smirked and pinched her cheek.

"Oh, Rachel…" Anne stood back up, her cheeks almost as red as her hair. She tucked a strand of crimson hair behind her ear and turned to grab her bag. Pulling out her stethoscope, she moved back to Rachel. Rachel undressed as she had many times before. Her sister in many ways was her saviour. She had helped her with her illness for as long as she could remember. Rachel held her opinion above that of any man who claimed himself a doctor. When requested she breathed in as deeply as she could. When Anne had finished the examination, she leaned back. Even with such a beautiful and youthful face, she looked tired.

"You're running a bit of a fever. It must be the soot." She said softly. "The city of London's has been getting so much darker with it. I'm afraid it must have reached here. The trip to the market has only made it worse."

Rachel couldn't help but to smile. It was the filthiness of London, not the filthiness of her thoughts that agitated her illness. She could still be saved, if she would allow it... She breathed a smooth, sweeping sigh. "I think a change of air would do you very well," Anne continued. "Speak to Vincent… about taking a trip to the ocean." Rachel watched Anne carefully. How Anne's face twisted ever so slightly in pain whenever she mentioned Vincent. How her lips always curled downward with the taste of his name on her tongue. Rachel couldn't understand it. Or rather, she wouldn't allow herself to. Even in her denial she felt the pang of guilt that lay gnarled in her stomach. It was something she chose never to confront. Anne hesitated for a moment. Pain flickered in her ruby eyes. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small purse. From that purse she took out a delicate piece of dark paper. She set the purse down on the nightstand and turned to look at Rachel. "This is burnt nitre-paper." She said, her voice quickly returning to its professional tone. "Its smoke will help lessen the severity of your attacks. Burn it whenever you feel the need to." Anne reached back into her bag and placed a small dish on the nightstand. One that dish she placed the dark brown paper. She produced a box of matches next from her bag, and with one swift movement she lit one of the matches and set the paper alight. A steady stream of smoke rose from the flame.

"Oh, Anne!" Rachel exclaimed. "You're so smart! I don't know what I would do without you." Anne's rosy tint returned. As Rachel watched her, she thought that all of her sister's life would be dyed crimson, the shade of passion, of life.

"Perhaps…" Anne spoke carefully, choosing her words carefully. "You should consider another form of treatment… M-medicated cigars have been found to be most effective—"  
"Cigars!?" Rachel gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth in shock. How could she ever consider doing something so unladylike? Even if it was for the sake of her health, she was sure Vincent would deny such an obscene request. "How could I possibly— "

"Don't you want to see Ciel grow up?" Anne said suddenly. "Do you really want to leave such a precious child without a mother?" Rachel did not reply. She watched Anne ball her hands up into fists in her lap. She wouldn't look up at her. She stood up abruptly, grabbing her bag. "I-I'm sorry Rachel," She said softly, watching the nitre-paper burn. Tears welled in the corner of her eyes. "That was…" She shook her head. "Please forgive me. And please don't hesitate to call if your condition bothers you further. I will always be here for you, dearest sister…" She quickly left the room, leaving Rachel alone with the pungent smell of smoke filling the room.

Rachel leaned back into the bed. Her illness seemed to do more harm to her family than it did to herself. Sighing, she turned to face the window. Anne's outburst was immediately forgiven. It was shocking to watch her meek younger sister so upset, and Rachel felt guilty for arousing such emotion in her. She could feel her pain. Their bond as sisters had connected their hearts, and she couldn't stand to cause her dearest sister so much pain. Rachel contemplated Anne's suggestions. If it was for her family, she could… forfeit her standing. She bit her lip. But how could she tell Vincent? Rachel laid back down. Her breath seemed to move more easily. She turned to look at the nitre-paper. As she watched the dark gray smoke rise, she began to feel tired. Before she knew it, she had drifted off into the most peaceful sleep she had had in days.

When Rachel had awoken it was early the next morning. The heavy sense of dread awoke with her when she discovered her throat felt tight. She lay perfectly still, moving her head only slightly to look at Vincent who slept peacefully. In that moment she felt more wretched than she ever had. She wanted more than anything to hold that man in her arms and to be held by him. But she dared not move. It felt as though there was a barrier between them, one that existed further than just her weakness and his preoccupation with work. She turned her gaze to the window. In coordination with the rising sun, her symptoms were alleviated. So relieved was she, that she decided that she would join her family for breakfast.

During breakfast she held her tongue about all that Anne had told her. Ciel cheerfully babbled about the funny look of the eggs. Vincent watched him with a tender look in his eyes. Rachel leaned back in her chair, finding her appetite had vanished. Closing her eyes, she thought that perhaps vanished wasn't the right word. Mutated would be far more accurate. She no longer believed she could find energy in the food that halted her breathing in intervals. No matter what she ate it hadn't cured her. Smoke, she concluded, would bring more life to her than a piece of bread. But when Vincent looked her way she did what she must. She smiled sweetly and consumed her breakfast.

Ciel was whisked away to his lessons by Abigail. Vincent apologized impassively and left to handle business matters. Rachel found herself exceedingly troubled by his behavior shortly before his departure. Once Ciel had gone his expression had turned cold. His eyes were dark, and Rachel wondered how many worries, how many secrets, were concealed behind them. Vincent walked swiftly to the door, stopping briefly to warn Rachel not to push herself before drifting out into the hallway. Rachel sat completely still as a flurry of maids cleaned the table. A million possibilities presented themselves. Perhaps this matter that he has been so absorbed by had taken a turn for the worse. Perhaps he is dissatisfied with her current performance as a wife. Perhaps… he has somehow discovered… Time seemed to stop. Rachel waited for her throat to tighten and for the air around her to disappear, but it didn't. But regardless of the quality of her breath, her hands still shook. She slowly stood up from her seat. Without breathing a word, she ran from the room. Being so accustomed to her bedroom it was there she returned to when faced with the sudden sickening suspicion. She wandered to the window and grasped at her breast. She struggled to think back to when she had last met with him. She wouldn't allow herself to forget it. The memories would be for her a matter of life and death. Rachel fell to the floor as the events of that day came back to her.

It wasn't a kiss. Skin brushed lightly against skin. Such a trivial level of contact could be achieved even while walking down the crowded streets of London, she tried to assure herself. She didn't carry out the full sin of a kiss. Rachel exhaled. A bit of her anxiety slipped away on her breath. And the coachman. Surely he hadn't seen anything. Of course not. She had pulled away just as the carriage stopped, before that man had even gotten off his perch. Her secret, their secret, was safe. It must be. Vincent allowed him to go along with her, after all. He had no reason to be upset now.

Rachel repeated this mantra throughout the day into the evening. She whispered reassurances to herself like a prayer. Still, her apprehension was never fully lifted from her shoulders. When Vincent arrived home for supper she flew into his arms. She couldn't wait until they were seated. Subtlety eluded her.

"Vincent, dear," She spoke in her most delicate voice. "What had you so agitated this morning?" Her soft, slender hands came to rest on either side of his face. She looked into his toffee-colored eyes, but they showed no hint of animosity. Vincent remained silent. An apologetic smile slowly curled his lips. He placed his hands over hers.

"I'm sorry," He murmured. He repeated it again, a bit louder, his voice as gentle as ever. "I'm sorry Rachel. It's not you. It's just… Things… Things are just getting a bit more difficult, you see..." He hesitated for a moment. His expression turned blank, and he seemed to look past Rachel. "I promise," He said, wearing a sterner look. "I'm promise I will keep you and Ciel safe. No matter what." He pressed his forehead against hers and did not move. Rachel remained silent, surprised by Vincent's sudden surge of emotion. Silence filled the room. After a lengthy amount of time Vincent finally moved. He kissed her forehead, smoothed down her hair, and strode out of the room. The room seemed darker to her now. She turned her head and saw Abigail in the doorway, holding a candelabra. Before Rachel could speak she vanished.

A new breed of apprehension ensnarled her. Even as she sat at dinner, with Ciel happily giggling in his seat at the sculpture he had formed with his food, her blood seemed to be at the verge of freezing. Vincent wouldn't look up from his plate. He only took a few bites before quietly standing up.

"I'll be back soon, my love." He said softly. He walked to Rachel and softly kissed her forehead, his finger running through her strawberry-blonde hair. He drifted over to Ciel and kissed him as well before making his way to the door.

"Vincent, wait!" Rachel said, standing up. He turned back and gave an apologetic smile before leaving. Rachel looked down at her plate. She hadn't eaten a single bite, and now her food was cold and unappetizing. Rachel sighed and looked at her son. She couldn't bring herself to sit back down. Not a single ounce of willpower in her blood existed for the purpose. To sit and pretend everything would be fine, because he said so. She smiled sadly at Ciel and called for one of the maids to watch over him while she went out to get fresh air. Once out into the hallway she searched for Abigail. No matter the situation, that woman always knew what was happening. She found her leaving the laundry room, her candelabra still in hand.

"Abigail," Rachel said, taking a moment to catch her breath. "Are the…. Are they coming tonight as well?" She ran her hand through her hair, touching the same locks Vincent had, replacing his fingerprints with hers. Abigail nodded solemnly.  
"Yes m'lady…" She said quietly.

"I… I see…" Rachel smoothed down her dress. A new emotion was aroused in her. The new sense of excitement complimented her apprehension. She hoped Abigail, the ever-astute Abigail, couldn't notice. "I… Um. I should be going…"  
"I'll gather your linens."

"Very good. Thank you, Abigail."

Rachel wandered throughout the halls. She remained on high alert, careful to walk closely to the wall so that she may disappear through a doorway with some excuse or another if a servant caught her before he did. A thousand stories were swiftly born and extinguished. She was certain she wouldn't be caught off guard.

All of her defense, however, was for the wrong adversary. When she encountered him every word carefully chosen in preparation wilted in the back of her throat. He was standing at the corner, leaning his back against the wall, cloaked, as always, in his black robes. When she stopped he turned to look at her with a large grin. Her breathing stopped, those withered remains choking her. The man took a step closer to her.

"How are we, Lady Phantomhive?" He asked, seemingly gliding to her. "The Earl says that you've been on bedrest for quite some time." Rachel couldn't find the breath to answer him. Undertaker continued to speak, circling around her as if to inspect her. "He tells me it's your illness acting up again. I think it's a bad case of hysteria, ihihihi…" He gently wrapped his fingers around her arm. Rachel let out a small sigh.

"U-Undertaker…" She mumbled, her voice soft and weak, to her dismay. "I must speak to you… about our last meeting." Undertaker hummed and put a finger to her lips to silence her.

"It must be difficult, what with the Earl away from you at all hours…" He leaned in as he spoke, his lips softly brushing her cheekbone. He voice was lower and carried a silvery element to it. "If you need any help with that, you should let me know. Ihihihihi…." The next moment he was gone from her side. The mortician's departure was so swift, and Rachel's reaction time so hindered, the poor woman did not even know which direction he had run off to. She was left only with his parting words. They seemed to encircle her, so real to her they had their own heartbeat. They companionship inflamed her cheeks and sent a wanton ache down her stomach. He couldn't have meant want she thought… Rachel silently cursed herself for ever touching that forsaken book. She tried to reassure herself that it wasn't the man, but the book that had corrupted her. It would not matter now where she placed the blame now, however. The damage was done. She was set on a path she could not escape from.

That night she slept alone. Vincent notified her at supper that he must leave immediately to Grays. He carefully informed her that the business he must attend to may keep him away for several days. Rachel wouldn't allow any disappoint to show. She simply smiled and wished him a safe journey. Assured him that she would count the days until his return. How painful it was.

She was her weakest when the sun had set. Without her husband by her side to restrain her sinful fantasies, Rachel's thoughts were left to wander. She imagined what it would be like to have the Undertaker in bed beside her. She imagined him with the same carnal passion as that gardener. She ran her hand down her thighs, wondering what his fingers would feel like against her bare skin. Her heart danced and her blood tingled. She let out a sigh and turned onto her side. She knew what she would do went dawn broke. She was a wife, yes. A lady absolutely. But, she was still human, still the descendent of Eve who had eaten that cursed fruit. And this illness in her chest, so close to her heart, had destroyed her.

The next day Rachel's heart was aflutter. She paced rapidly through the great hall, grateful that the servants were too busy and too trusting of her health as of late to check on her, lest they come to believe she had gone insane. Vincent had meant for letters to be sent out to his colleagues to notify them of his sudden departure. Rachel intercepted only one, knowing that in the letters absence that man would wander to the manor, as was his habit the last few weeks. She hid herself behind the door of an empty room. Pinching the edges of the white envelope tightly, she looked down at it. Just how long would it be until that man returned? Would it be two days, or even four? Would he be here before Vincent came back? And how would she steal him away without the servants noticing he had even stepped foot into the manor. Rachel bit her lip. Perhaps, there was an easier way to execute her plan.

She made sure Ciel was busy with his lessons and that Abigail was out of sight. The woman had been so uncharacteristically quiet the past few days, it was the perfect opportunity for Rachel to escape. She quickly returned to the drawing room where she hastily wrote two letters. Vincent's letter she had set aflame. The smoke did not have the same healing qualities as the nitre-paper, but it did not cripple her, either. She made her way to the stables, all the while desperately hoping that her plan would allow her unsupervised entry to the East End of London. She surely must have gone mad, to think that she could ever execute this plan without some sort complication. But her altered mental state would not allow her to entertain the various ways everything could go horribly wrong. As she came closer, she found herself exceedingly fortunate to find that the only occupants of the stable were the two young grooms, neither of them beyond the age of fourteen. Perhaps she truly could bring about her ludicrous plot.

"Pardon me," She called to them. "May I have a moment of your time?" The two boys stopped what they were doing and turned to look at her. "I need you two boys to do a favor for me… May I have your names?"

"Peter…" One of the boys timidly replied, after some time had passed.

"I'm Edgar…" The other replied.

"Right," Rachel smiled. "What lovely names. Would you boys like to earn a little extra pocket money?"

"Yes, ma'am," The boys said in unison, their eyes lighting up.

"Now you must keep this a secret, do not tell anyone, understood?" She spoke in a sweet and airy voice. Putting a finger to her lips, she winked at them. The two boys nodded.

"Now, do either of your boys know how to drive the carriage?"

"I do!" Edgar's hand shot up. "Old man Abraham taught me!"

"Very good! Now… Peter, was it?" Rachel held out one of the letters to the young boy. "Dear, I need you to make yourself scarce for a bit of time, understood? After a few hours have passed, present yourself to the maids who will be wandering the grounds. Give to them this letter, and tell them that you have forgotten about it. Okay?"  
"Yes ma'am!" Peter exclaimed, taking hold of the letter with his filthy hands.

"And Edgar, I have a big job for you. I need you to take me to London. To the funeral parlor in East End… Do you know where that is?"  
"Yes ma'am!" Edgar exclaimed, giving her a salute. "But… why is that, miss?" His hand lowered slightly.

"My dear friend has passed…" Rachel quickly said, shifting her expression to that of sadness. "She was a poor woman, and I wish to deliver to the undertaker a gown for her to be dressed in."

"Oh. I'm sorry, miss." Rachel smiled. "I'll return shortly. Please ready the carriage."

"Yes ma'am!"

Rachel rushed to her bedroom to gather her things. She wandered through the hallways to observe the activity of the maids. She could not locate any one, not even Abigail. She thought to herself that perhaps she shouldn't depart, for the atmosphere seemed to strange. But oh, she had become a primitive creature. Her reason could not overpower her basic want. Once all had been secured, Rachel made her way to the stable, where the carriage stood ready. She breathed a sigh and slipped into the carriage. As it pulled onto the road apprehension started to consume her. But even stronger than the feeling of doubt, was the exhilarating feeling of excitement.


	6. Chapter 6: The Coriander

(It gets pretty nsfw in this chapter. Just a warning.)

Heavy gray fog hung thick over the dreary city of London. Sitting in the damp cottage, Rachel found herself bothered by a cough. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her to keep the chill away. The excitement had faded, and she was left with nothing but apprehension and fear. She leaned her head against the cold glass of the window and looked outside. She watched the dull, uniform buildings pass. She counted the passersby in their dim rags shuffling to and fro. The fog clung heavy to them and weighed them down. What an _awful_ place… Rachel thought to herself as she looked away. How Vincent could bear to spend so much time in London, she would never know. When the cottage finally came to a stop, her heart stopped as well. She couldn't bring herself to move. Maybe she should just tell the boy to take her home. Getting this far, it should be more than enough for her. But when she looked out of the window and saw the building, all rational judgment started to leave her. The sign, painted purple, drew her attention immediately. Undertaker. She didn't need the signal from Edgar, who called out in his cockney accent. She would go. She couldn't help herself.

Rachel stepped out of the carriage and was immediately disgusted by the goo that slid down the gutter. She hiked up her dress and hurriedly skipped to the door.

"Thank you, Edgar!" She called over her shoulder. "Please deliver that letter and come right back!"

"Yes ma'am!" Edgar called. The carriage pulled away and Rachel was left alone. She pressed herself against the door, terrified. She had never been out alone a day in her life, and certainly not in London. She quickly slipped through the door.

The room was dark. She could hardly see anything. Clutching her alibi in her hand, her heart sank. Just what had she been thinking? She had let herself grow drunk on those silly book fantasies. And now she had wandered straight into danger, like a moth flying into the passionate embrace of a flame. She kept her other hand wrapped tightly around the doorknob. As her eyes adjusted, she was surprised by the decrepit state of the room. Cobwebs peppered the corners, the urns, and chairs and the curios. A thick coat of dust lay on the tables and the coffins that lay strewn throughout the room. The air of death paralyzed her lungs. This would surely be her final resting place. A sudden peal of laughter rang out and broke the deathly silence.

"My, my, I certainly wasn't expecting you, m'lady, ihihihihihi…." Undertaker seemed to materialize out of the darkness. "Did you come all this way by yourself?" He glided over to her and rested his cold hand on her cheek. "When did Lady Phantomhive become so daring?" Rachel's gaze fell to his feet.

"I… I wanted to speak to you…" She said quietly. "You… Left before I could talk to you." She slowly brought her gaze up face his. She tossed the old nightgown to the side and gingerly brought her hand up to rest on his. She drew in a sharp breath, but could not summon any more words.

"Is what you have to tell me so important that you'd risk your pretty little soul to come all the way out here? To tell me you don't want a dress anymore?" The laughter was gone from his voice, but his smile remained. "I've fixed up plenty of women who knew these streets better than you…" Rachel's lips trembled as she tried to find the right words to say.

"I-I couldn't help myself, Undertaker." She exclaimed suddenly. "Forget the dress for a moment. It was just an excuse to come see you. I've… I've tried so hard. Truly, I have. But surely you must have felt it, too." A look of surprise flickered across the Undertaker's face, and for the first time, Rachel saw the corners of his lips fall. "Please…" She said quietly. "I…." She took a step closer to him and placed her hands on his cheeks. Her fingertips lightly ran over his smooth skin and his cryptic scar. "Even if the heavens forbid it, I cannot find the strength to stay away from you any longer…" The Undertaker did not speak for a length of time. He did not move, only watched Rachel as she struggled to keep her breathing under control. Finally, once the silence had fully consumed the room once again, he spoke.

"Oh, my…." He purred. "My dear, you truly are ill…" Rachel felt her apprehension growing. Surely she couldn't have imagined everything. Surely this visit wasn't due to some sick delusion. She found herself silently begging the mortician not to turn her away. And instead, he leaned in closer, until she could feel his breath against her skin. "That illness must have muddled your brain…" He murmured. Rachel jumped. The mortician had snaked his arm around her waist. In an instant her body was against his. Her breath left her in gasps, but for the first time in months, she wasn't thinking about the amount of air in her lungs. He sighed, and she felt her whole body grow hot. "Humans are such weak creatures… But then again, who am I to judge…" He mused in a husky voice.

"Do… Do you mean…" Rachel whispered softly. She was unsure if her words had even reached him. She pulled away slightly and pushed his bangs back so that she could see his face fully. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. This man, with his chartreuse eyes, seemed to belong to another world. There was something inhuman in his beauty, something celestial in the tender glow of his gaze. "Well, then," Undertaker said, the chuckle in his voice returning. "If you really want to do this, why don't we get on with it?" Rachel's breathing stopped. She didn't know what she had been expecting when she walked through the door of the mortuary, but it certainly wasn't this. His was such a casual agreement, as if they were simply sitting down to tea. She expected more discussion, more persuasion. Some sort of acknowledgment that what they were about to do was wrong. But he still wore that dotty grin and spoke in that reassuring tone as though no sin was being born right here between them. He turned and gently guided her to the back of the shop. "With such gloom out and about, I guess shouldn't be surprised... But such a request from Lady Phantomhive, of all people…" He opened the door to a pitch black hallway and motioned for her to enter with a wide grin on his face. Rachel stared at him for a moment before complying. He entered right behind her and she quickly stepped back and grabbed his arm for guidance. Her eyes were not as accustomed to the dark as his were.

Rachel found herself in a simple bedroom, sparse in both furniture and decoration. There was a simple bed against the wall dressed in alabaster linens with a nightstand next to it. On against the opposite wall was a dark oak dresser and a door from which a coat hung. None of the furniture matched, and Rachel assumed the mortician must have simply picked each piece up here and there. It certainly wasn't like the brilliant rooms described in the novel, and this certainly wasn't like the whimsical scene that played out before the noblewomen and her gardener shared their first wild night of passion. But, it certainly wasn't anything Rachel was used to, either. Undertaker walked to the bed and dusted it off a bit.

"I can't remember the last time I've been in here, ihihihi…" He sat down on the bed and waved Rachel over. Rachel went to join him, after a moment of hesitation. She slowly lowered herself onto the bed and stared blankly at the dresser, her hands in her lap. "What is it, dear?" Undertaker cooed, leaning in close to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Is the excitement gone?"

"It's…" Rachel tried to pick her words carefully. "Not what I had imagined…." Undertaker chuckled.

"Ihihihi…. But of course! I'm only a humble undertaker, after all. I've no need for any gaudy festooning." He lowered his voice. "Are you disappointed, dear?"

"No," Rachel replied airily. "No." She repeated and turned back to look at him. A few locks of his hair had fallen back in place. She quickly brushed them back again. "Don't… Don't you have anything else to say? Isn't this- isn't this wrong?" Undertaker took hold of her hand and gently kissed it. Lightning seemed to bloom from where his lips touched, and it traveled down her arm, electrifying her entire body.

"Oh, course it is," Undertaker responded flatly. "You're a filthy harlot, Lady Phantomhive. So depraved…" He twirled a lock of her hair in his fingers as he leaned in closer. His pale lips lightly brushed against hers. "But, I'm glad you've chosen me. I'm afraid I'll never understand why, ihihihi… You're a strange one, Lady Phantomhive. But, even so I'll do my best to satisfy you…" Rachel's breath caught in her throat. To insult her, and then say such a thing… It was _he_ who was strange, not her. "I must warn you, though, I'm no physician. And I haven't entertained a woman in ages. But, I'm happy you've come to me instead of some other bloke." He closed the remaining distance between them and placed a kiss on her cheek. His lips lingered there as his fingers found their way to her collar. Finding no buttons, they roamed to the back, where they skillfully undid every button they met. All the while he peppered her cheek with kisses. His lips traced her jawline before finding their way to hers. When he kissed her then, Rachel felt sure she would not live to return home. She felt herself bloom for him, and was certain she would wilt in his arms as well. Once the buttons were all undone, Rachel quickly tried to slip out of the gown, forgetting everything that had just transpired with the new feeling of excitement that washed over her. As she attempted to squirm out of her confinements, she not once removed her lips from his. She couldn't fully remove the dress with such little movement, and so let it hang off of her hips until she could bring herself to pull away. Undertaker chuckled into the kiss. He ran his tongue over her bottom lip and nipped at it until she finally granted him entrance. Rachel could not recall a time she was kissed, or had kissed, so passionately. Eventually Undertaker pulled away to catch his breath. "For someone who was so just talking about how wrong this was, you sure are eager…" He commented. Rachel didn't reply, but took the opportunity to pull away and remove her camisole. She stood up and shimmied out of her dress, petticoats, and bloomers. She slipped her chemise over her head. She struggled with fidgety fingers with her corset and garter belt and stumbled as she slipped out of her stockings. Undertaker held a hand in front of his mouth to suppress his laughter as he watched her. She tossed each garment aside quickly and clumsily, before she regained her ability to think clearly. Now completely nude, she turned to look at him, her cheeks a bright shade of pink. "My…" Undertaker chuckled. "What a lovely woman you are. The Earl certainly has picked a beautiful wife." Rachel's heart stopped at the mention of Vincent. This was a truly horrible thing she was doing. But the realization of her depravity was arousing. "Well, I suppose I should remove a few layers, too…." Undertaker untied his scarf and placed his jewelry on the nightstand. She watched him as he began to unbutton his coat. Biting her lip, she wished he would just hurry up, but the mortician moved as slowly and casually as if he was simply hanging up his coat after a long day at work.

He kept his cassock and slacks on, and Rachel wondered if it were an invitation for her to rip them off herself. He rose and wrapped his arms around her. Regardless of the clothing, the feeling of her bare skin against him erased every thought that lingered in her mind. She looked down at where his arms coiled around her waist and noticed she was still wearing her gloves. She quickly discarded those as well. Undertaker kissed her cheek. With the barrier of cloth now removed, his lips traveled down went to her bare neck. He lightly nipped the tender skin between each kiss. Rachel tilted her head back and tried not to moan. She couldn't think of anything else other than how badly she wanted him. "Please, Undertaker" She whispered breathily. "Take me…"

He led her back to the bed. Laying on there, with him next to her, Rachel felt that horrible ache in her lower stomach return. She kissed him eagerly, as though he were the medicine that could cure her. She ran her hand down his chest, but when it reached his groin he pulled it away. Undertaker ended the kiss and chuckled. "A little excited, are we? Don't worry, I still have a bit of skill left. We won't need that…" Rachel didn't know how to reply, she only stared at him. What did he mean? The mortician let go of her hand and she let it hang in the air, unsure if she should attempt it again. Undertaker adjusted himself so that he was hovering over her. He gave her a light peck on the lips and ran his hand down her stomach slowly to her womanhood. Rachel gasped when she felt his fingers against her and wrapped her arms around his neck. A wave a pleasure washed over her. It was a feeling that had been lost to her for many years. Undertaker smiled and watched her reaction, chuckling.

"It's been a while, hasn't it m'lady? I'm afraid I can't keep this up though. You see, I don't want to hurt you." The pleasure waned as he removed his hand. He held it up to her and wriggled his fingers. His long black nails and white fingers glistened with dew. Rachel nodded. So caught up with her lust, she had forgotten sensible fear. He slid his body down, kissing her porcelain skin as he went. Electricity ran through her as she felt his soft hair run over her skin. His hand was replaced with something else. Rachel gasped and grabbed a handful of his hair. This man was truly shameless, his actions left her aghast. Just who was the true harlot here? His tongue ran over her skin and she felt herself overcome with a level of pleasure she had never felt before. She tilted her head back in ecstasy, gasps escaping from her lips.

"Uh, uhn..." She moaned, her lips unable to form his entire title. She tugged at a fistful of his hair, as the man continued to ravage her. She soon found herself reaching her peak. Her hips buckled underneath him. She felt herself losing control of her body and voice. As she began to regain conscious, free from the fog of ecstasy, her moans became whimpers. She lay completely still, trying to catch her breath. Undertaker crawled back up to her, all the while leaving a trail of kisses along her body. When he had finally reached her, he placed a kiss on her cheek with an exaggerated "mwah" and chuckled.

"Oh…" Was all Rachel could bring herself to say.

"Did that help, Lady Phantomhive?" Undertaker asked, rolling over onto his back and licking his lips. "You know, I happened to notice you didn't suffer a single attack." Rachel's eyes widened, and she looked over at him. "You were breathing pretty hard, but that didn't seem to bother you, ihihihihi…." He rolled back over and pulled her close to him. He ran his hand lightly down her cheek. As he watched her, his eyes gradually softened with sadness. "Such a sweet woman…" He murmured. He pressed his forehead against hers. "I'll take care of you, and your dear family…"

She wished that she could lay there with him for only a moment more, but there was the sound of knocking coming from the foyer. Rachel jumped out of the bed and quickly ran to grab her clothing. Undertaker lazily rose from the bed and sauntered out of the room. Rachel could hear the sound of Edgar's voice and her blood ran cold. She quickly started yanking on anything that she could, not caring if it looked correct or not as long as it covered her. She could hear the Undertaker asking the boy to wait. She was trying to pull her stockings up underneath her bloomers when he returned. His laughter rang out like a bell.

"As amusing as ever, m'lady. Ihihi…" He snatched her petticoats off of the ground. "It's such a shame you noblewomen never learned to dress yourselves. Just what would you do if you left out there all alone? You're like a bunch of newborn moggies. Here, let me help you…" Rachel couldn't recall a time she was able to get dressed so quickly. The Undertaker was more skilled than even her maids, and far more gentle by comparison. Taking her arm, he guided her back out into the front room where Edgar was waiting. This wasn't the goodbye she had wanted, but she had forgotten that she asked the boy to come right back. The young brunette looked shyly down at the ground. His arms were behind his back. She could tell quite easily that this place frightened him. She couldn't force him to stay here any longer than was absolutely necessary. She turned to Undertaker.

"Vincent is away on an important business matter. He won't return for several days." She said, struggling to keep her voice level.

"I see. Well, have him write me or give me a call when he gets back, won't you?"

"Yes… Goodbye, Undertaker…."

"So long, dear." The mortician slid over to his desk and collapsed into the chair behind it. From there he waved warmly until Rachel and Edgar had left the mortuary.

In the carriage Rachel was still swimming in bliss. She couldn't pull her mind out of its haze long enough to consider what would be awaiting her when she returned. She didn't think of how she would need to speak to the coachman to keep him from whipping the boy for taking the carriage without permission, and then beg him to forget the whole ordeal. She didn't think that she would end up bribing three boys instead of two. And she didn't prepare for the assault awaiting her when she stepped into the manor, from not only Abigail, but a mob of servants who threw at her a barrage of questions. She didn't take into consideration the long, exhausting lecture Abigail would deliver about her going out without prior notice to visit friends. She certainly didn't think it would continue into the evening. But, the one event Rachel had anticipated came to fruition, and for that she was eternally grateful.

"Maude is coming over tomorrow afternoon, Lady Phantomhive," Abigail announced after she was through with her seething lecture. "Why she couldn't tell you this when you were right there having tea with her I do not know, but she will be here, nonetheless."

"Thank you, Abigail. And I truly am sorry," Rachel leaned over and laid her hand on the woman's shoulder. "Please find it in your heart to forgive me." Abigail sighed.

"I guess I have no choice, Milady. I will go fetch your tea."

"Please bring Ciel with you when you return."

"Yes Milady."

Rachel spent the last precious hours of day in her rocking chair by the window overlooking the garden. Her dear child was curled in her lap, looking at the illustrations in the book as she read to him. In his chubby hand he held a biscuit, and crumbs littered his cheeks and shirt. Rachel laughed at the mess and turned the page of the book. The air seemed so clear, and the garden so beautiful. She was more at peace than she ever had been before that warm spring evening.


	7. Chapter 7: The Anemone

All things must come to an end, the evening and Rachel's breezy sense of well-being were no exception. Ciel was whisked away by Abigail for bed as the sunset waned, and Rachel had never felt so lonely. Without anyone to distract her from her thoughts, she felt her blood slow and thicken into tar. The tears that rested precariously in the corners of her eyes fell like raindrops onto her blouse. As she watched the dark dusty clouds swallow the sky again, she wondered how someone like her could be allowed to live. She ran her hands over her thighs. She could still feel his hair, like fine silk against her skin. She bit her lip, remembering how soft his were. She bit down hard until she drew blood. How she wished she would sew these sinful lips shut, so that they would never bring disgrace to her or her family again. She stood abruptly. Trying her best to wipe any residue of tears from her eyes, she went to search for Abigail.

"M'lady!" Abigail gasped upon seeing her. "Oh my! What has happened to your lip! Are you okay?" Pulling out a handkerchief, she attempted to dab the wound. Rachel winced and took a step back.

"I'm okay, Abigail. I was… So lost in my thoughts I wasn't aware that I had bitten my lip. Please forgive my carelessness."

"Oh! Lady Phantomhive! A lady shouldn't think so much that she causes harm to herself! And to ask a _maid_ for forgiveness!"

"Yes… Yes, you're right… Abigail, please fix me a bath."

"A bath?"

"Yes. As soon as you can… Please."

"Ah… C-Certainly milady." Abigail twisted the handkerchief tightly in her hands. She remained in the hallway for a moment, staring at Rachel as though she could decipher the woman's secret through sight alone. Rachel offered no resistance, making no attempt to flee nor offering any defense. Abigail's expression began to mirror hers. Her deep blue eyes, now wet with worry, shown like glass. Rachel felt herself falling apart before her gaze. The maidservant gave a slight bow and hurried off. Rachel stayed in the hallway. She leaned against the wall, still as a statue, until Abigail returned to tell her that the bath was ready.

In the bath she ran her hands down her legs. The warm bath water caressed her and brought her ease. But as the warm water relaxed her tense body, it also relaxed the restraints she had on her thoughts. They drifted back to the mortician, the decrepit funeral parlor, and the indescribable pleasure that like the water, caressed and warmed her body. Vincent… had never made her feel that way. No. It wasn't for a noblewoman to feel so vulgar. But still, she couldn't help herself.

Rachel sighed and looked up at the ceiling. She hated herself. She was certainly the most sinful creature to walk the planet. But still, even with her heavy sense of shame, she couldn't let that man go. The excitement of escaping her home, the sense of danger of journeying to East End, life had never seemed so real to her before. Her mission was dreamlike, something that should have never been possible, and yet it happened and awakened every one of her senses. Every detail of the squalid street on which he resided, each speck of dust that enveloped the shop, every word he spoke in his smooth baritone… They would forever be etched in her memory.

And yet she wasn't satisfied. Her womanhood ached at the thought of him. How she wished she could jump from the bath and return to him. How she wished he could steal him away, keep him hidden in a secret room in the manor, where she could escape to and indulge in her depraved fantasies. A proper woman would hurry to church and beg for forgiveness from the priests. But the thought of Rachel spilling the truth from her slatternly lips at confession seemed impossible. A proper woman would throw herself before the feet of her lord and husband. She would flog herself if her husband proved too virtuous for the task. But Rachel knew that there was bliss in ignorance. Telling Vincent, that would not change the past, she reasoned. She could hide the extent of her affliction from him, she was sure this could be hidden from him as well. It was certainly for the best. It was to protect him. It was too late for Rachel now. She had tasted forbidden fruit, and she couldn't return from it. She'd carry her burden alone, and wait until the judgment day to face her sins.

She thought that when Maude arrived tomorrow afternoon, she would return the novel. That awful, dreadful thing had done its damage. It was nothing more than evidence, now. Her thoughts continued to drift from obscene fantasies of that mortician to superficial reasoning that maybe, maybe it wasn't too late to save herself. It wasn't until Abigail began knocking on the door that she realized how long she had been in the bath. She forced a smile and reassured Abigail that everything was alright as the maidservant suddenly rush in, panicked. She returned to her bedroom and changed into her nightclothes. But as she turned to look at the bed, Rachel felt her body freeze. After betraying her husband, how could she sleep in the same bed as he? She sat lightly on the bench at the foot of the bed. Leaving the bedroom for another one would only worry Abigail further. She ran her fingers over the soft fabric of the blanket. She was ready to allow herself to be consumed by sin. Why was this simple action so difficult for her? After a great length of time had passed, Rachel was able to force herself onto the bed. She gingerly crawled onto the mattress, as if too harsh a movement would awaken someone who was already asleep in it. She laid on top of the sheets, allowing herself only the quilt that rested at the end of the bed for warmth.

It was a fretful night, wanting in adequate rest. When Abigail came to wake her for breakfast, Rachel felt weak. She gave a small smile that she knew Abigail didn't trust. The young girl looked at the bed that was still made. She bit her lip, as if forcing herself to keep quiet.

"Abigail dear, what is the matter?"

"It's… It's nothing, Lady Phantomhive… Lady Maude will be here this afternoon. It seems she did not want to wait for a personal invitation from you. Such a boorish woman…" Abigail murmured the last sentence under her breath, but let out a gasp and covered her mouth when she realized what she had said. Rachel continued to smile.

"It's quite all right, Abigail. You're only speaking the truth, good girl." Abigail's face grew red and Rachel couldn't help but to chuckle as she rose from the bed.

Despite the weight on her shoulders, Rachel breezed through the day. The air seemed clear and her lungs did not struggle as they normally did. Her energy gradually returned to her as the day went on. It wasn't until the announcement that Maude had arrived that breathing suddenly started to feel difficult. Such a casual visit always seemed like a remarkable event as the servants hurried to open the windows in anticipation of Maude's heavy perfume. Rachel fidgeted anxiously in her seat, focusing on her breath and the details of the cakes that rested on the table. Maude sauntered in, waving a dismissive hand at the servants who lingered in the room. Rachel looked up at her. As always, her face was painted. Her dark brown hair was tied up in an extravagant style, and her bosom seemed ready to fall out of her dress. Her large hips swayed with each step. Was she here for afternoon tea, or for a ball?

Rachel opened her mouth to say hello, but was abruptly cut off. "My book, dear." All color drained from her face and a chill ran over her body. Maude didn't sit down, but looked at her blankly. Rachel reached behind her and pulled out the book she had kept hidden. She handed it to the woman without speaking a word. Maude's thin red lips curved into a smile and finally she sat. After a moment of silence Rachel regained enough of her composure to speak.

"I-I'm sorry… I didn't—I mean, I meant… I meant to have the book… Sent back to you… I just—"

"Did you enjoy it?" All breath had left Rachel. Her face shown as bright as Maude's lipstick. "Don't try to lie to me, silly girl. Of course a prim and proper lady like yourself couldn't come right out and say it. But I could tell. I see tell you were curious, of what was really in the book." Rachel didn't reply. "I merely did my dear friend a favour, 'forgetting' the novel so you'd have a chance to peruse it in your leisure without the fear of judgment. That Taylor was quite the young buck, wasn't he?" Rachel didn't speak. "Don't play chaste now. You had quite a bit of time to return it if it wasn't in your taste. Ah, you old world women are all the same. One day you'll realize that you're only humans. You mustn't take yourselves so seriously—"

"Please leave."

"What?"

"I-I'm sorry. Please forgive my discourtesy. But for future reference please do give adequate notice before you visit."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm… I'm very busy today." Rachel quickly sat up. Her feet seemed to glide over the floor as she hurried out of the room. She had hoped that she could hold back her tears until she was out of sight. But as she neared the door a sob escaped her.

"Rachel!" She could hear Maude yell behind her, but she fought her instinct to respond and disappeared into the hallway. She ran blindly down the hall and picked a room to hide in at random. Closing the door behind her, she crumpled to the ground. The tears flowed uncontrollably, staining her cheeks, her dress, her hands. Sobs forced their way out of her mouth. Their hideous, croaking sound filled the room. She was surrounded by demons, bent on dragging her down to hell with them. She knew that the mortician was not human. She could see it in his eyes and in his inhuman movements that deceitfully looked ethereal. And Maude, her dear friend had long since been replaced by a despicable succubus. She had fallen into their trap and had played their game. How could she escape from them, now? When just the night before she so willingly let herself fall into their hands?

Between her sobs Rachel desperately gasped her breath. She hoped her affliction would take her now. If she were destined for hell, let there be no delay. But she then felt cold fingers against her hot cheek, and her gasps stopped. She looked up from under her tear-soaked lashes. The figure that smiled back at her stopped all her tears from falling.

"Crying isn't a very pretty look for you, hehehe…"


End file.
